Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 1

Sunrise looked like a fresh bleeding wound, stretching to the length of the entire horizon. The sun has long since set, and twilight has darkened the sky the same way the skin around a bruise would turn blue. If not for the streetlights filling the streets and the bright headlights of the cars that rushed through the veins of the roads, Dick is sure all the buildings would have turned into sharp black geometric shapes. If he was in the country, closer to the forest or endless fields, he would have become one with the abyss of silhouettes with no artificial light to interfere, and only a bloody line above would separate him from everlasting emptiness.

Such a sunset is quite rare for Gotham, and being able to watch it from a fifty-story office building is even more breathtaking. Dick stood on the very edge, and despite the thickness of the soles of his boots, he felt how the angle of plane was digging into the soft pads of his feet. The sharpness of the tactile sensation travelled all the way through the spinal cord and to the chest before diminishing and not reaching the heart. The numbness encompassed the body once again, leaving no place for anything but coldness.

Suddenly, the urge to smoke was so strong. He wanted to inhale the acrid, cloying smoke deeper, to hold it in his lungs, poison every cell of his body and the remnants of raw nerves, and release it slowly, painfully slowly. Encapsulate himself and exhale into a cool September evening.

However, Dick had never in his life smoked a cigarette.

His focus was scattered as he watched the sky, then the streets, the chaotic yet rhythmic way the traffic beneath him bubbled. The wound on the horizon was closing; it was being replaced with dull darkness.

Dick found it very ironic that the sky is just as fragile as humans are.

Will the sky miss me?

The gust of wind rose once again, but this time it was gentle and only slightly ruffled the vigilante’s hair.

Dick closed his eyes and instinctively took a deep breath of clean air, as clean as it could be in Gotham. And once more, something deep within him wanted to break the surface of consciousness, to reach the very tips of the fingertips, but this impulse was repressed faster than the first one, leaving his chest spasming.

And then there was nothing: no thoughts, no sensations, no movements inside of him.

A dull, silent emptiness.

Legs involuntary slid forward, and half of the Nightwing’s feet were hanging over the abyss. He was born an athlete, he was artful in ways of controlling his body both in in the air and on the ground. He could execute the most difficult tricks with closed eyes, accurately assessing his position in space and controlling his every muscle fiber. Coordination and balance – those are the red threads woven into the carcass of Dick Grayson.

It belongs to him, it is a part of his being.

He started to slightly rock on his heels.

Do I belong to myself?

Control escaped him the moment the tiniest desire for action arose in him.

He can fall, dive down right now from one hundred and fifty meters, and fly again like he has done it thousands and thousands of times. The feeling of hovering made Dick fall in love with life every time; it promised safety and freedom.

He can fall right now, but will he spread his wings? Idle irritation at his own noisy brain was replaced with boredom. Viscous as a resin boredom. Nightwing looked down; he was mesmerised by the street adjacent to the office building on the roof he was standing. It was mostly empty; only from time to time, employees passed through it, apparently overworked and hurrying back home.

Home.

It seemed to Dick that this word should raise layers of strong emotional states and memories. But the inner request was echoing away somewhere in the back of his mind. So he stopped searching, even though something inside him begged him not to.
The rocking back and forth continued, back and forth, back and—

The amplitude reached its maximum, the entire center of gravity shifted forward, crossing the concrete verge—

“Nightwing!” someone growled loudly behind his back. Dick swung back to his initial position, planting his feet firmly into the roof. The voice was very familiar, and this knowledge dissuaded him from turning around.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Whoever this was, the air around them seemed to crack with the wrath that emanated from the stranger. Dick knows and understands this anger as his own. He would be angry at himself as well for such sorry, pathetic state he is in now if he had enough mental capacity for it.

He is always unfocused, not fast enough, not strong enough, not smart enough, he is never enough, why is he never good enough? Isn’t he supposed to be the eldest, the leader, the protector? He doesn’t sleep well, he doesn’t sleep at all, his body aches, his head is fool of cotton sometimes, its hard to think. Why?

Why it is always so cold?

“You gone deaf there, asshole, or what? No one heard from you in days and now you are showing in some random roof far away from your usual routes! What the he— hey, hey, ‘Wing, stop!”

Rhythm. It is necessary to maintain a rhythm; rhythm means safety, rhythm means consistency, it has purpose (did Dick lost his purpose?); forward and backward, forward and—

“Hey, Bigbird”

Everything in Dick halted abruptly. This nickname, only the closest ones knew it. He slowly turned and faced another vigilante in leather jacket and bright red helmet. His posture tensed, muscles coiled as if ready to jump or surge forward. His left hand moved behind his hip, touching the handle of the hook. Dick was not impressed and just continued to stare at his younger brother.

“Nightwing, status,” mechanized voice fluctuated a bit. It was such a small thing no one would have noticed but Dick did, he always did. But that doesn’t matter, does it? His trying is always worthless in the end.

So, status? What should he tell? He can not even remember how did he end up on this roof in the first place. Everything was so out of reach, covered in impassable veil: thoughts, memories, feelings. He feels emptied.

“Are you drugged? ‘Tis a toxin? Pollen? Are you mind controlled?” Red Hood began to move towards him, every step careful yet loud. He made himself look more relaxed, smaller. Not-a-threat his body said.

“Nothing”

“What do you mean ‘nothing’?”

“Empty”

"Empty what, where?" Red Hood stopped around fifteen meters from Nightwing. The latter stood rooted to the spot, balancing on the brink.

Dick blinked slowly as if searching for the answer within himself, then put his right palm just above his heart and whispered, "Here."

Jason sucked in a breath like he had been punched in the stomach. There was a cacophony of panicked voices in his ears, but even the noise of their cries was not enough to overlap the terrifying realisation of what was happening— Nightwing, Dick, their oldest brother stands on the very edge of the skyscraper and not really coherent. At least he seems to be in one piece physically, there are no visible injuries or blood on him.

Dick turns away, uninterested in the conversation, and stared down at the asphalt.

“I wonder what it's like to fall.”

If earlier Jason could strangle the swirling anxiety, now all he can feel is tearing claws of terror mangling his chest, “Its painful, extremely painful. You know that.”

Dick hums absently.

Jason has some experience with such situations and knows better than to act harshly or loudly. But he also counts the seconds of his inner timer – and the time is running out fast, too fast for his liking and he does not understand what's going on inside Dick's head. He has to act now. Otherwise…

There is no time for overthinking.

"Hey, Dickie," mentally berating himself, Jason prayed that nobody would eavesdrop on them here or they would be fucked.

The eldest turned around sharply, staggering a little, which made Jason’s heart sink into heels. White lenses of the mask were widened but his whole body was lax, almost indifferent to the world. Dick has not moved, not away, not toward Jason. Jason would give anything right now to be engulfed in one of his brother’s annoying hugs.

Fingers moved to the latches in the helmet and taking it off he fastened it to his belt, without taking his eyes off Dick. He spread arms in inviting gesture. Maybe he can allure Dick more efficiently with his uncovered face. Jason still isn’t sure Dick recognizes him.

“C’mere, Bigbird,” with strained smile he called out to his brother, who would hopefully listen.

Jason doesn’t want to think about what will happen if he doesn’t. He can’t, it isn’t even at option, they cannot lose Dick—

“Jay?” drawled Dick, frowning a little.

“Yeah, ‘Wing, it’s me. Step off the edge, let’s go home – we can figure everything out,” agonisingly slowly, he moved towards the acrobat. They were separated by a few meters. Jason almost reached him—just a little more.

“Jason.”

Nonchalance morphed into shock, awareness pierced his spinal cord like an arrow, and body reacted faster than the mind. Dick flinched so hard and violently, lost his balance, stumbled and…

Nightwing’s hand instinctively went for his grappling hook—

It doesn’t work.

Why doesn’t it work?

The reflection of the light streamed on the windows.

The wind drowned out the screams from above.

Dick imagined the clang of a string.

The last thing he felt was collision with something very firm and a terrible headache.

-/-

Consciousness slowly made its way through the dense fog of oblivion, trying to reach the surface. The outside world still seemed too far away, somewhere on the border of the unconscious. The head was blissfully empty; any incipient thought was almost instantly washed away like a drawing on the beach. Gradually, as if leisurely, sensation began to return to Dick. He was lying on something soft, and warmth seeped through his tired bones. And for the first time in a long time, the wounds did not cut into his skin like a wedge; bruises did not press on the ribs; sprains did not ache. The pain no longer tormented him.

Dick took a deep breath, slowly filling his lungs with air. The chemical smell of freshness surrounded him, both familiar and alien – it reminded him of the detergent Alfred uses. Although, it didn't smell like his flat, it smelled like home. He tried to bury his face deeper into the plush material, to hide in this quite gentle moment.

Ah, he must be in someone’s bed.

Stop.

He is in someone’s bed?!

The thought sobered him like he had been slapped in the face, the fog abruptly dissipated, and the events of the previous night came crushing one after another. The primal instinct to get up and run, or at least to find a weapon and hide, was strangled by the learned algorithm of actions from many years of training and experience in heroic activity. "Keep your movements to a minimum until you assess the situation," his brain reminded him in Bruce’s voice. Not changing the rhythm of his breathing, Dick carefully opened his eyes—he was indeed resting on his right side, facing a window. Thank God, not in some warehouse. The sun had already risen, and its long, golden ribbons of light covered the walls, the bed, and the floor. The window was ajar for ventilation. There was a bedside table with a book and a Glock by the bed.

A Glock with red chromed shutter and three diagonal stripes.

Oh-oh. He is doomed.

He is so, so doomed.

Dick slowly shifted his gaze from the gun to the left until he met a figure standing in the doorway. A very angry figure with a white lock among the coal curly hair. The eldest quickly hid under the blanket, but that did not save him: the heavy sound of approaching footsteps counted down the time given to Dick for prayer.

But he was deprived of this too, when the blanket was roughly yanked off his head—his last line of defence against his baby brother.

"Hi, Jay," the elder grinned guiltily. If Jason was a meta, he would be able to disintegrate with a look. To grains.

Dick opened his mouth, ready to say something, as he was interrupted by the younger one with a sharp, air-cutting hand gesture.

“Shut up, just shut up.” Every word sounding like a sledgehammer meeting steel.

Reason took over in the mental debate, and Dick decided to wait until Jason cooled down.

“Dickhead, do you even remember how you got here?”

“By here you mean in your appart—”

“Yes, in my fucking apartment!” Jason answered, barely restraining himself from lashing out.

The eldest lowered his gaze slightly below Jason’s face, as if turning to look inside himself. Dick recalls getting ready for patrol, stopping a mugging, apprehending a gang of brawlers, and settling small disputes. But he also remembered working together with Tim on the newly developing branch of drug trade between Gotham and Bludhaven but… it was not yesterday. Everything seemed to be muddled, with all days mixed together and mismatched.

But yesterday’s memory holds more feelings and emotions than actions and events.

Jason saw how thoughtfulness gave way to a terrifying realisation on Dick’s face. The younger patiently waited for answers, and it seemed like the very air trembled with tension. Toxic green sparks flickered in his eyes, similar to those that pulsate in a broken neon sign at night. His whole body taut from barely contained emotions. The acrobat’s silence served as a torn-out grenade check.

"I take it as a yes, then. What the hell, Dickwad?" Jason started to hectically pace around the room, asking, "Why am I finding you on the roof of a fucking skyscraper on the periphery of the business district? I’m yelling at you to get away from the edge, and guess what? You’re just chilling there and swinging like a fucking wobble doll!"

After all, there is a reason to fear of Red Hood. Jason is terrifying when he's furious, even without all the guns.

"Everything was under control, I’m fine" muttered Dick, not losing his smile. His brother’s shadow loomed over him with crossed arms.

And how many times did he tell them these words, how often he persuaded them with a warm smile and a fond gaze to forget, not to notice, not to pay attention? And they always believed: believed in his steadfastness, his iron will, his endless source of love for people and life itself.

Dick is incredibly strong and it is not manifests in the number of battles he has won, the number of cases he has solved, or the cleanliness of the streets., no. It manifests in his compassion for others, in how much he gives to people without expecting anything in return and in the light he always carries inside himself which warms kids on the street and gives them hope and meaning. And no matter how many times the world tried to extinguish it - this fire never dies. Jason lost it somewhere between broken tibia and radius, or maybe near the end of the countdown timer.

"Uh-huh, everything was under control," Jason drawled ambiguously.

agitation, confusion and anger merged into single stinging lump filling whole body until the tension became crucial and eventually exploded. The wall by the window became its victim.

“LittleWing, hey, it’s okay, everything is alright.”

"Don’t you dare soothe me!" roared Jason, whirling around to face his brother. Even now, in this exact moment, this piece of idiot is thinking about Jason and not himself. The younger stood right beside the bed again seconds later.

“You fell off the roof, you deliberately stood there and waited for the moment to—”

Dick abruptly sat up, propping himself on the hands, “Oh God, no, of course no, Jay, I would never…” The fervor was replaced with shame. The very thought dumbfounded him like he was thrown into the icy waters of Gotham’s Bay.

“Then what?” Furious blue-green eyes desperately searched his for answers.

“No, I’m just, I’m…I…”

And Dick fell silent, his body curled in on itself. White bandages, which covered arms and chest, were almost glowing in the sunlight, reminding of untreated wounds. Tired dull eyes, an uncharacteristic quiet voice. His older brother, the most fearless, valiant, and selfless, looked so fragile, young, and lost. Just looking at him rips Jason's heart to shreds. The urge to protect and avenge was raging in Jason, but he understood that the enemy is unreachable; he was simultaneously very close and so far away; he was between them; he was inside Dick, lurking in the bins of his consciousness and in the shadow of his heart.

Dick carried a fire inside him, but Jason is now in front of ashes.

And it scared him so much.

Nothing scared him more, he suddenly realized, than Dick Grayson's cracked invincibility.

When Dick spoke, his face was hidden behind thick hair, voice quiet and detached, "I don’t know."

Never had Jason seen his brother like this before. Dick always had a plan; even in the most dire situations, he always came out victorious. Dick had answers to the most difficult questions, solutions for every situation.

The thorny vines of anxiety wrapped around his chest. Something is wrong, awfully wrong. Dick would not do, he would never...

Jason felt like a little boy again, standing helplessly beside his sick mother’s bed.

The sound of uneven breathing brought the younger back to reality. He shook his head as if the motion would help him physically get rid of the unproductive thoughts. This was not the time to give into panic; he needed to understand what had happened to his older brother that had distorted him so much.

He almost fell—

The mattress sank beneath new weight, but Dick did not react. Even when he was called, he remained motionless. Only when a when warm hand tentatively took his and their fingers intertwined, Dick flinched as if from an electric shock.

“There you are, Dickie”

A poor reaction is better than no reaction at all. The thought encouraged Jason a bit.

When Jason dragged Dick to his nearest warehouse, the first thing he did was thoroughly check his brother for injuries. He didn't notice anything while on the roof; only later, after removing his Kevlar suit, did he discover not fresh but poorly treated wounds and a couple of cracked ribs. And, of course, Dick had a mild concussion because that is what you get as a prize for jumping from high rooftops with weird mind state. Jason barely managed to catch him in the air. Their landing was quite rough, and although he tried to take most of the impact, he could not protect the stupid head of his older brother.

“Does it hurt anywhere?”

The head must hurt like hell, Jason thought to himself, and probably the ribs. Everything else is just an inconvenience in their line of work.

The silence was dispelled by the rustle of fabric. Without looking up, Dick placed his free hand where his heart is and clenched it so hard, as if he wanted to rip something out. Jason’s stomach twisted with anxiety at the sight.

"Yeah, Dickhead, you have a few cracked ribs; I checked them."

He felt trembling, but it was not his hands that were shaking—it was Dick's—so he squeezed the elder’s palm in sympathy.

Dick is never silent, neither in the face of danger nor in front of Bruce’s authority. Dick was a true songbird; he was loud and melodic; he joked and cheered others up.

Jason expected silence from Tim, maybe Damian, but never from Dick. The surrounding stillness sounded strange, wrong even.

Dick shook his head, his locks seeming to shade even more of his face. He muttered something, and it was such an unintelligible, quiet sound that Jason had to move closer so that their thighs were touching.

“What was that?”

“I said sorry, Jay, I don’t know,” don’t know what?

Don’t know what’s wrong with me?

Don’t know why I’ve done this?

Don’t know what have I done?

The contemplation was interrupted by unexpected caress: Jason did not even notice how the eldest started to tenderly stroke the old scars on the back of Jason’s palm and wrist. Dick knew better than anyone how itching the old scars can be, especially in the moment of uneasiness. Although Jason would never admit out loud, it always helped. But he could not help the grain of irritation – even in this state, his brother’s fist instinct is to take care of others.

Damn martyr.

“If you wrinkle your forehead like that, you’ll age before Bruce.”

Surprisingly, even the mention of their father did not trigger an acidic feeling inside Jason. He almost snorted.

“I’m fine, Little Wing, don’t worry”

Dick eventually raised his head. The flares of sunlight shimmered in his tired eyes like ripples on the water's surface. This animated his appearance; this and a small but sincere smile. For a second, Jason believed that his brother was right and everything truly is fine, that if Dick Grayson is smiling- the world still had a chance not to collapse.

Jason could not understand where does Dick find the strength, even for the sake of creating the illusion of well-being. Doubts pecked at his heart like a flock of vultures, and although his mind was racing at a hundred miles per hour, he knew he should not bombard Dick with questions. Right now his brother needs someone to lean on, someone close, and not someone conducting an interrogation. The younger will have time to get the answers, as for now…

Jason never considered himself as a good member of the family, he was not there when needed, did not pay attention to things and events, but now he can try for Dick’s sake.

He is willing to try.

“Hey, Dickie,” the acrobat hummed questioningly.

“C’mere.”

But Dick did not rush into his waiting arms, although self-restraint was evident in his longing gaze.

“Ah, have I lived to see the day when Dick Grayson passes on the hug?” Jason teased affectionally, “the world must be burning.” The joke served almost as permission, and in a moment, Jason found his arms full of his older brother, fiercely returning the hug.

“Not a chance while I’m alive,” Dick chuckled tiredly but genuinely.

The phrase, like a blade, plunged him so deeply, simultaneously bringing pain from the memories of the danger and hope for a better tomorrow. Jason, in a fit of incomprehensible emotion, pressed his brother closer to him, his whole body almost engulfing Dick, who in turn buried his face in the crook of Jason’s neck and sighed contentedly. Dick fitted so weirdly perfectly in his arms, and it felt so strange, so inexplicably...right. The angles and curves of their bodies matched so well, as if they were puzzle pieces. Although, Jason remembers others times, covered in carelessness and frivolity; where everything seemed simpler, easier, more playful. The times, where he touched real magic; where he started to share it with others, and a shadow with sharp ears, bigger than the world itself, always followed him and watched his back; The times when it was his small malnourished body covered in tender strong hands of his big brother. Nothing could have reached him there, in that hold. Never in his entire life has Jason felt as protected as in his brother’s embrace.

Dick was always the initiator of such open physical affection, but right now their roles are switched, and to be honest, Jason does not mind.

And the hands began to move on their own: one slipped into thick locks, the other began to stroke his back gently. Jason knew exactly the right pressure for the back rubs, knew with what dexterity to sort the strands; he knew because Dick had done the same for them a thousand times. The eldest shuddered at the touch, and Jason, taken aback by such a strange reaction, hesitated and almost retracted his hands, but in the same instant, Dick melted against him, all tension leaving him. He nuzzled impossibly deeper into Jason’s neck. Such a display of ultimate trust made something in his chest blossom with warmth.

He finally has done something right. But there is one more thing he has to do.

Jason gathered the strength to voice what he is about to say. He can not remember the last time he said them to anyone, let alone when he was on the receiving end of them, but something deep within him tells him that his older brother more than ever needs to not just feel them, see them through the prism of actions, but simply hear them.

Fear made its way into a mix of heavy emotions, and he was about to drop the idea, but if these words can really help Dick even the tiniest bit...

"Dick," Jason begun a little uncertain, "please don’t ever do that again. I-" he cut himself off abruptly, and swallowing, he continued, voice small, vulnerable, "I don’t know what I would do with myself, what we all gonna do without you around. I can’t imagine life without your stupid hugs and awful glitter pranks and movie nights and…"

Jason’s voice died out like a candle.

"I love you," he managed in a whisper, and he buried himself in the elder’s hair, hiding from the terrible probabilities and images his brain was mocking him with.

Jason is overwhelmed, everything comes in bits and pieces: he hears a harsh inhale; he feels the hands that cups his face as something priceless; his gaze fell on lively blue eyes that just a few moments ago were dull and apathetic.

Dick's mouth opened and closed like a fish that on land greedily swallowing air. Any other time, Jason would have found such an expression very amusing, but he was paralysed with anticipation. His lungs spasmed, making it impossible to take a breath. Jason expected mockery, disdain, and even indifference. These words had cost Jason too much, when chasing this feeling, he went in search of his mother. They had cost him his life. Is he ready to lose it again?

“Little Wing,” Dick called oh-so tenderly, “and I love you, more than anything in the world. The day Red Hood appeared in Gotham was the happiest day of my life.”

Red Hood. Appeared. In Gotham.

Not only does Dick accept his alter-ego, his way of working, forgiving the unforgivable, but he also finds love for him, for a sadist with a broken mind and a crooked soul. Despite all his actions, despite all the harm he deliberately inflicted on the family and on Dick personally, the force of the emotion with which Dick confesses to him cannot be false, feigned, manipulative.

“I will not leave you, none of you. I promise.”

Deft, calloused fingers stroked his cheeks. Strangely Dick’s silhouette seemed blurry to Jason. And suddenly Jason burst out laughing, feeling dizzy from either an overload of feelings or the realisation of reciprocity. He couldn't stop the treacherous, toothy smile from creeping across his face. He hugged Dick so tightly that he squeaked in surprise, which made them both giggle. Jason rubbed the acrobat’s shoulders, moving higher to the neck and into the curls and back. When he reached the place behind his ears, Dick literally went limp in his arms.

And Jason allowed himself to give in to this feeling, gentle and warming and all-encompassing, that threatened to burst out of his chest.He could finally breathe. Perhaps this whole ordeal was just as necessary for Jason as it was for Dick. He pressed his cheek against the eldest’s temple.

"Whatever this is, Big Bird," the shadow events from last night flashed in Jason’s eyes, and his voice rang like steel, "I’ll help you; you are not alone in this shit."

He felt a smile on his neck, "Thank you, Jay."

They will heal.

Together.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 2

The morning passed relatively calmly, Jason made breakfast. They chatted about everything and nothing at all, but neither dared to bring up the previous evening. The morning had given way to the afternoon, then the evening, and now it was already time to prepare for the patrol. An uneasy feeling curled around Jason's soul like a slimy snake, refusing to let the elder go on his own after the accident. He didn’t fully understand what was wrong with Dick and couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was bothering him about the acrobat.

During the whole day of close observation, Jason didn’t notice anything unusual in his brother’s behavior, as if last night and this morning were fragments of some sort of stupid dream his brain conjured up.

Jason had never been good at such conversations, but his conscience chose a perfect time to rear its ugly head. It felt like a weight on his shoulders, promising to crush him. He knows he has to talk to Dick before they head out and follow their own routes, Jason knows the price of his hesitation. He knows and still cannot find it in himself to speak up.

It was so simple back then, when he didn’t consider himself a part of this family, didn’t associate himself with them, when he ignored every little thing with unruffled indifference. It was so easy to be a lone wolf.

But in that exact moment the elder solved Jason’s inner dilemma, "Jayson, promise me you won’t tell anyone about yesterday’s… thing."

An understatement of the year,  Jason thought to himself.

"I don’t want to worry them for nothing, you know?"

And when did your condition become "nothing"?

Jason wanted to retort, to accuse his brother of hypocrisy, but the elder resorted to desperate measures—he made a plaintive face that even Batman could not resist. 

"Please, Jay," he drawled, "see for yourself—everything is great!"

"Since when drinking tea with no less than five spoons of sugar went under the definition of "great,"..."

"Actually, a lot of people like their tea sweet!"

"Five tablespoons, Dickhead," Jason leaned back in his chair, his face blank but his voice amused.

The acrobat chuckled. It was lighthearted and sincere, dispelling some lingering uneasy feelings in the younger.

After Bruce and Alfred, Dick is the most experienced of them all. Jason did not question his competence; he remembers the times when he was a member of Dick’s Titans team. The elder did not have any unhealthy habits, at least no obvious ones, unlike Tim and his lack of sleep. Dick is the most persistent in terms of following the moral code—the perfect Robin. He gave them no reason to doubt.

And yet he couldn’t afford to let Dick go by himself, but the stubbornness of elder did not allow him to be forcibly kept in Gotham. An idea was born in Jason’s mind. 

"Okay, Dickhead, but only on my conditions."

"Why are you always like this?" The elder pouted fondly.

"Because everything happens on my terms, or it doesn't."

"Ah, is that so? I'll have to inform Alfred when I see him—"

"Don’t you dare," the younger man threatened, to which Dick only burst out laughing. Jason huffed, though the corners of his lips rose unruly.

"All right, Mr. I-am-always-in-control, what are your terms?" Dick asked, smiling widely.

"First of all, I’ll do all the tests I find deemed necessary. Secondly, today we are gonna to patrol together."

"Oh, if I had known that you would invite me to spend the night with you, I would have been prepared better…" Dick said sweetly and winked.

Jason didn’t even bother to respond verbally, and he slapped Dick in the bicep.

"Okay, okay, no need to be so rude."

"Oh, I haven’t even started yet."

The two of them went to the Cave, since none of Jason’s safehouses were as well technically equipped. Jason managed to run all the tests before the others’ arrival. He was not sure whether the negative results for all the drugs, pollen, toxins, and the rest of the crap reassured him or forced his nerves to tighten into a stronger knot. 

But today they will be together, and Jason will have a chance to watch his older brother closely.

-/-

The patrol was actually quiet tonight. Unusually quite, as luck would have it. Throughout the night, Dick never acted out of character; nothing gave away the echoes of yesterday’s events. And although the rustle of paranoia did not subside inside his head, Jason couldn’t justify it. 

Perhaps Dick was indeed exhausted back then, lost in the maze of his own thoughts, and unwittingly became a victim of an accident.

Maybe it’s really nothing.

-/-

A week has passed, then another, and it seems like the routine remained the same: once a week, Dick would come for a family dinner,  to assist in the investigation, or to simply spend time with the family. And while Jason himself was not a frequent guest at the manor, he tried to visit it from time to time, especially after "that night" so he could keep an eye on Dick and catch him red-handed. But he always left empty-handed and even more confused. 

After a month of close observation, he allowed himself to stop feeding his nervousness so as not to match Tim in this competition. Although sometimes Tim can beat Bruce in this.

What a mistake.

Jason spends too much time with the youngest, it seems. Because, as it turned out, the paranoia never truly disappeared but only showed its nasty head at the moment Dick turned down dessert at another family dinner. 

Dick Grayson. Turned down. Desert.

But instead of wary glances and questioning, the elder received quips and laugher. 

"It’s a sign of Armageddon itself, no doubt," grinned Tim, twirling the pasta on a fork.

"I’ve just went over my norm for sugar, that’s all."

"I have never heard of such a "norm" in all thirteen years, Master Dick," Alfred said with a small smile in his voice, simultaneously removing dirty silverware and empty plates.

"Yeah, considering the amount of sugar you consume on a daily basis, the hardest case for me to crack is your resistance to diabetes," chomped Tim enthusiastically. 

"It’s called intuitive nutrition!" Dick defended himself, crossing his arms over his chest. He clearly enjoyed the banter. 

They continued their fraternal bickering; even Alfred and Bruce watched brothers with almost undisguised tenderness. Jason was perplexed—was he the only one who was bothered by such behavior? Or was he overthinking it all? Others didn’t seem to mind.

He breathed out and joined in the banter to roast Dick as well.

-/-

Next time, doubt flared up like a weak light on a wet splinter when two brothers finished one of the most difficult cases of massive abduction. Jason had been tracking down those bastards for months, imagining how each day another innocent soul was being swept into the criminal beast’s filthy paws. With each passing day, fury and impatience gnawed away at him until finally, having collected all needed data and dealt with all intermediaries, they figured out the date of the largest shipping of "goods" as these motherfuckers put it. Nightwing and Red Hood had been preparing for this bust for a long time and meticulously, but the new wishing-to-be-a-mob was not as stupid as previous ones; otherwise, he and his people wouldn’t have been able to stay away from GSPD radars for so long. 

And Jason had to give it to Dick—they performed absolutely fantastically. They understood each other without words, knew every micro-movement, and knew when and where the other would lend a strike. And so they dealt with the gang with such deadly grace that one could call it an art. Violent, sometimes bloody, but still art. 

The sense of coherence filled him with a satisfaction known only to an athlete who took gold at the Olympics. He used to think that only Pit madness could be that encompassing, but oh, how wrong he was.

In a rush of feelings, Jason offered the eldest the most indulgent thing he does for his brothers when in the best mood – to treat him.

"C’mon, Wing, it’s a good night, and I’m rarely this generous," he said, holding out the shawarma from the best eatery in the whole city, "I even asked to put some extra fries and cheese for you, as you like." 

Nightwing smiled and politely declined. 

"Is this some kind of crappy diet? This is your favourite shawarma over here, Birdbrain, and it hasn’t even cooled down!" The younger one was indignant, while the other only laughed it off. 

"I’m worried about my beautiful shape."

"I haven’t even started eating yet, but I’m about to throw up." From the nervousness or Dick’s sense of humor – he doesn’t know.

"It’s a well-known fact, LittleWing. How do you think I managed to stay in such good shape for so long? "This is steel self-discipline," the acrobat said proudly, squareing his shoulders and straightening up as if physically proving his words. 

And then Jason looked at Dick, really looked. He seemed more gaunt and thin, which was not critical but noticeable to the keen eye.  Dick was by no means massive and bulky like Jason and Bruce due to his genetics and type of operation, but he did have muscle mass on his bones. Whereas Jason was more of a brawler, Dick was light and athletic. There are now sharper lines and harder angles where the nice curves of elastic muscles used to be. Dick’s face also changed slightly; there are more stress lines, and in general, he looked... tired, as if his life was being sucked away little by little.

"You’ve lost weight," Jason drawled, thinking out loud. The joy of the moment was erased by the creeping suspicion, and Dick, ever sensitive to mood switches, snatched the food from his brother's hands and began to actively eat it. 

"It’s just a trick of the light. I’m as irresistible as ever, you’ve seen me!" Dick declared in between the bites.

"Start eating like a normal human being already," the younger grumbled, shifting his gaze from Dick to the city high-rises. Among them, almost completely merging with the rest, the same ill-fated office building was visible. Jason swallowed the food with inexplicable difficulty, which suddenly became tasteless and sticky. 

"And no, fruit loops ain’t considered food, you idiot," he added discontentedly, because wearing a mask of anger is easier than wearing his heart on his sleeve.  

"Okay, Mom, I’ll send you a photo of the receipt from the grocery store," Dick promised him sarcastically.

-/-

But Jason never got that photo. Not that he took Dick’s words seriously, but his older brother wasn’t one of those would miss the opportunity for any kind of contact, even through simple text messages. Hell, Jason himself could ignore Bat clan for weeks, except maybe Alfred. So it was fair, right? But Dick never was offended by Jason’s disregard, he wrote him from time to time despite not receiving any answer.

But maybe Jason just overthinking.

-/-

Then the Movie Night happened.

Today they decided to rest after late patrol and stay in the manor. Naturally, Dick could not miss the opportunity to turn this into a fraternal time and offered to watch a movie. They settled down in the den. At first, everyone respected each other’s personal space, but as usual, Dick’s patience snapped around the first twenty minutes of the film. The sofa they were lying on turned into a literal nest of three birds, whose limbs were so difficult to distinguish that they seemed to merge into one big living knot. Of course, Jason couldn’t miss the opportunity to tell Dick everything he thinks about this human centipede, despite how distracted he was by the deft, caring fingers running through his hair. Baby Bird ended up snuggled between the two, the upper part lying on Dick and his legs tangled with Jason’s. He was out like a light, and neither Jason nor Dick had it in themselves to wake him up.

And everything was fine, nice even. Jason was warm, his mind was light, free. Being loved and accepted was one of the best things, and he missed these kinds of nights. When his big brother was that close, Jason felt like he was untouchable. Even though he was Big Bad Red Hood on the outside, a lonely little street kid peaked through the cracks from time to time. And Dick, fuck him, never failed to notice it when that happened. Jason, in his most sentimental moments, wished he could do the same for him.

And he actually has this opportunity right now, as the eldest keeps staring unblinkingly into the screen, eyes unfocused, shoulders tense. Jason has seen the same expression on victims who had experienced such traumatic events that the only solace they could find was hiding from the outside world behind the walls of some small, secure space somewhere deep, deep within them.

What was their brother running from? What demons attacked his soul?

And Jason? He couldn’t find the courage to speak up first. His tongue has gotten heavy and uncoordinated. He couldn’t bring himself to ask directly, "What is wrong with you?!". Such emotional stuff was never his field of expertise. Jason has a whole bunch of mental problems that he is not touching with a ten-foot pole, let alone helping someone with theirs. The younger despised the cowardice in others, but right now he felt more helpless than ever.

Dick is not even blinking.

Either self-loathing or increased nervousness caused by Dick's immobility, who has been sitting for ten minutes after the credits rolled, prompted Jason to speak.

"Hey, Dickhead," Jason whispered, not wanting to disturb Baby Bird, who had fallen into a deep slumber.

When no reaction followed, Jason called for him again, more loudly. It worked, and Dick faced him. This weird, lifeless stare looked so pathologically wrong on Dick that it caused a chill to run down his spine.

"Hey, Earth to Dick," the younger said, snapping his fingers in front of the elder's face, hoping to bring him back to reality. Dick revived, blinked, and the presence was once again reflected in the eyes.

«You zoned out on me there.»

"Oh, sorry. Just a little tired, I guess," he quietly explained, yawning.

And Dick did look tired. Hunched shoulders, a face lined with stress from sleepless nights, the slowness of the movements, inhibited reactions. Everything in him screamed ‘NOT OKAY’ in big red neon letters.

But the most disturbing thing was that Dick denied the changes. He insisted that everything was fine, even though his behaviour begged to differ. He refused to talk, yet every time Jason saw him, he looked even more exhausted. More and more often, Jason was met not with ocean-blue but dull grey eyes.

Dick was fading away too quickly.

"You ain’t hiding any injuries, are you? Otherwise, I’ll snitch on you to Alfred," low blow for sure, but at least it got a reaction from Dick. The elder shook his head as if the action alone had brought him out of his stupor.

"My attempts to hide the wounds ended the moment B caught me stealing Alfred’s cookies from the top shelf at night where Alfie was hiding sweets, despite having  a twisted wrist and broken radius," he snorted, his head lowered and he closed the eyes as if reliving the memory.

"Ouch," Jason cringed.

"Yeah, they were furious," Dick added, chuckling softly.

"Dick, I’m serious, if something is up, just tell me or someone or, I don’t know," bravo, Jason, keep it up, 5 out of 5.

Jason shifted his gaze from Dick to his right, feeling uncomfortable and exposed.

"You always tell us that's what family is for," he continued, stumbling over the words "I'm always ready to punch some asshole in the face," he finished lamely.

As soon as he finished speaking, he felt so stupid. And yet, when the younger overcame the awkwardness and looked up at Dick, he didn’t expect to come face to face with such raw emotion, as sharp as a knife that went straight to Jason’s core. There was a visible battle happening within Dick, emotions switching so fast that Jason could not even name some of them. The elder licked his lips nervously—an old habit that even Alfred could not eradicate in all the years of Dick's life in the manor.

The acrobat hesitated. The confession was almost palpable and was about to slip from his tongue, as at that moment Tim mumbled something incoherent in his sleep and buried himself even more in Dick’s chest. Dick shifted his gaze to the youngest; something in his expression changed, became more closed off. And in that moment, Jason realised with annoyance that he would not get any answers today.

The elder looked at Tim with such unconcealed love. It seems that something at the sight of him made Dick change his mind.

This steady, powerful gaze then met Jason’s, "Everything is fine, Little Wing, promise. I’ve got you, guys; I don’t need anything else."

-/-

The next time Jason was invited to a family dinner, while sitting down at the table, he noticed that one seat was empty. When he asked about it, Alfred informed him that Dick couldn’t come.

Weird, Jason thought to himself.

Dick never missed family events, even in those unstable times when Jason just became Robin and the manor was a battlefield of two stubborn vigilantes. Then Dick had been coming for Alfred and, later, for Jason, when he got to know him better.

Jason’s stomach shrank uncomfortably, either from hunger or from the creeping anxiety. And when did he become such a mother hen? This is all Dick’s pernicious influence, no less.

Jason will send him a message.

-/-

But Jason forgot to write to Dick. Don’t get him wrong; he kept it in mind and had a phone ready in his hand, but then Roy called him and they chatted for about an hour. Then Tim took him hostage, luring him with the innocent phrase "Jay, can you help me with a case?". And damn it, he couldn’t resist those puppy eyes. Then came Bruce, and the three of them shared thoughts and opinions, then they headed out to patrol together. The night was long and quite hard, so when Jason finally came to his apartment and crashed on his bed, the clock on his nightstand showed 4 a.m.

So, yeah, life happened.

The next couple days were just as hard. Jason allowed himself to take a day off to devote time to normal things, like going to the store, cleaning the flat, watching TV, and cleaning ammunition and pistols.

Normal things normal people do.

As soon as he sat down on his nice, soft sofa, having previously laid out disassembled guns on the coffee table to clean them, the treacherous phone rang.

Gods, grant him humility, because if this is yet another one of Roy's stories, Jason would shoot him at first sight.

Jayson loved his friend, he really did. But when he took a day off, it meant taking a break from absolutely everyone and everything, including friends and family. It was his little sacred privilege, albeit a rare one. Therefore, anyone who interferes will be severely punished.

It was Tim’s face that looked at him from the phone screen, with wide eyes and coffee gushing from his nose. Jason recalls that moment with hysterical laughter when Dick made Tim laugh so hard, while he was sipping his coffee, that he spitted it up through the nose.

Damn, Dick! He forgot to send him a massage!

Jason swallowed the shame, put the call on the speaker, and pointedly exhaled, "What."

"Yeah, yeah, I do remember you told me not to bother you, Jay, but Alfred asked me to deliver Dick some food he made. You know what he eats, if a diet out of sugar can be called such."

Jason was about to chide the youngest for hypocrisy when a chest-stabbing feeling distracted him.

"And what does that have to do with me?" the older of the two asked, already knowing where this is all going. Involuntary memories of that night, Dick’s weird behavior, poor appetite, and isolation tendencies crept into his head.

"Are you going to let your fifteen-year-old little brother go alone to another city, that can surpass Gotham in terms of crime?" With feigned innocence asked Tim.

"That didn’t stop you at nine from stalking vigilantes in fury suits," Jason said with a sense of victory over the pathetic manipulator.

"Jay," Tim continued solemnly, his voice tinged with an unusual vulnerability. He only spoke in this tone when his self-doubt came out or when the situation required an emotional solution, in which neither Tim nor Bats were strong. Except for Dick, he was their only functioning emotional brain cell.

Jason sighed heavily, having already made a decision. The guilt would rather gobble up the remnants of his soul than have him refuse Tim’s request. Moreover, it will serve as an occasion to visit their older brother, who is already seriously making Jason worry.

"I’ll be in fifteen minutes. Just you dare to try to come out later."

Tim happily promised to be on time

-/-

It’s noon, the sun is hanging in the sky at the zenith, and in the parking lot of the police station stands a polished, fiery three-cylinder motorcycle with 137 horsepower and a 1130 cc engine. Such a machine is Jason’s pride and the dream of many. That’s why Jason was extremely against the idea of leaving it in plain sight.

"What, are you afraid that karma will catch up with you and someone will steal your tires?" Tim chuckled. Jason wanted to wipe that arrogant grin off the brat’s face. He would never admit it to himself, but everything flipped over inside him with delight when he was the cause of this wonderful smile on Tim’s face. The kid has changed so much since their first meeting, when Jason broke into the Tower. There was no question of trust, even after Jason's repentance. Not a single month had passed when, finally, Tim began to slowly lower his mental barriers and could be around Jason for more than five minutes in the same room. Tim looked abandoned and lonely back then, the tension never left him and he was always expecting a hidden blow. Jason hated himself back then, probably more than the dirtiest marginals, and yet the bird's heart turned out to be bigger.

"Y’know what? Fuck you. It was your idiotic idea, and if even a single scratch appears while we are gone, you will repaint it with your blood," Jason growled lowly. Tim knew Jason was just saying it for show, so he just waved him off and headed for the station’s entrance, taking the packed containers of food with him.

It was Tim’s idea to visit Dick at his work station and give him a ‘surprise’. Jason has had no love for cops since childhood and has never trusted them. Not because they couldn’t do their jobs, but because they were all part of this rotten system. A cop who smiles at you today and promises protection tomorrow will catch you and try to drag you into the van to take you to the customer. So yes, Jason had his reasons for hating them, and although he was unfamiliar with Bludhaven’s police, he was sure it was not so different from Gotham.

Upon entering the station, they did not receive any attention, but as soon as Tim asked where he could find officer Grayson, everything came to a halt as dozens of eyes locked on them. Jason drew in closer to Tim, so that only he could hear what Jason was about to say.

“He is either a local star or a pain in the ass. And I’m betting on the latter,” Jason sneered softly. Tim swallowed and elbowed the older in the side. And although the youngest didn’t show it, Jason knew how sometimes uncomfortable Baby Bird felt, being the subject of everyone’s attention.

And everyone just stared at them, silently, like if they were some sort of historical museum exhibit. It was getting on Jason's nerves.

A woman in her early thirties appeared in front of them. The way she held herself made Jason think that she should hold a high position. She looked at them from head to toe, the same way a scientist would examine his subject under the microscope. Jason unconsciously squared his shoulders and stepped a little in front of Tim, as if shielding him from a penetrating gaze.

Then, as fast as it appeared, the tension subsided and a small smile blossomed on the woman’s face.

"Ah, you must be Dick’s little brothers. You are Tim, and you," she shifted her gaze to the older man and continued with some thoughtfulness, "are Jason."

Suddenly all the policemen became animated, and whispering filled the hall where just a moment ago silence was suffocating.

People were so annoying sometimes, and when their lives are fucked up, all they can do is gossip and shit talk about others behind their backs. Jason understood that they did it in order to boost their self-esteem. He was not the one to let it slide, but right now he must stay focused.

"He speaks very warmly of you every time an occasion is given."

"Nice to meet you, Detective," Jason said through clenched teeth. This place is starting to get on his nerves. The sooner they find Dick and give him the food, the earlier Jason can return to his sweet home.

"I am Amy Rohrbach; Dick is working under me, and as you have correctly noted, I hold the position of detective," her gaze softened a little, as if the words truly made her sad, "as for Dick himself—he took sick leave for a week."

"Sick leave?" Tim asked in surprise, forgetting about the tense atmosphere, and moved forward to respectfully shake Amy’s outstretched hand.

Huh, Dick never told them about feeling unwell. And if Dick Grayson got sick, the whole world would know. Dick is a terrible patient, whiny and clingy as hell; the first rule around sick Dick is to never get within hugging distance; otherwise, you will be lost to the world until Dick finally recovers.

This is all… just doesn’t sound like their brother. Something just feels so seriously off.

It had been for a long time.

"It’s been three days by now."

The brothers exchanged looks.

"Honestly, with all of the crazy things that have happened in the last few weeks, I am not surprised. He was the one to come first and leave last. He probably overworked himself," she said, sounding wistful, like she truly cared for her work partner.

After thanking and saying goodbye, Tim and Jason headed for the exit. They didn’t exchange jokes when they saw the untouched bike, only hurriedly made their way to the apartment where their older brother lived.

The anxiety spiraled in more like a barbed wire in Jason's chest with every second.

-/-

Jason was seriously considering breaking down the door after Tim’s third unsuccessful attempt to reach Dick.

"Dick, are you there? It’s us," Tim put his ear to the door in the hope of catching any sound. Both brothers stared at the narrow slit between the door and the floor, but light and shadows remained motionless.

"That’s it. I’m coming in," the older boy grumbled, taking two steps back and shifting his stance to kick the door.

He was tired of uncertainty pulling at him. Why hasn’t he checked on Dick earlier? Jason knew something was up, but he didn’t want to step in and actually slice up the metaphorical abscess and clean the wound. But no one wants to do the dirty work, right? It’s easier to pretend that there is nothing to heal, nothing to cure. Especially with someone like Dick, who never shows how much it hurts until it's unbearable and the wound is so deep that it leaks and leaves smears everywhere. And just to make it worse Dick neither answers his phone nor the door.

"Wait!" Tim came between the door and Jason like a buffer, asking, "What if he just went to the grocery store or pharmacy?"

The moment he said that,  Tim grimaced, hearing how unlikely it sounded. He was met with an unperturbed look.

"Just give me a minute," Tim said as he took the lockpick kit from his jacket's inner pocket.

The older brother rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, "I’m done playing the game of good citizens."

But despite his annoyance, Jason let Tim pick the lock. Tim worked deftly; the picklock in his hands found the right combinations with such virtuosity that Jason was a little taken aback.

"Are you really Batman’s sidekick and not Catwoman’s?"

"I might have helped her with some things," the younger said, grinning mysteriously, not looking up from the task. And before Jason could express his puzzlement, the lock clicked, and the door opened obediently.

The older was the first to enter the apartment. He nearly stumbled once he crossed the threshold—the floor was littered with all sorts of things, from clothes to rubbish to some kind of personal belongings. Their oldest brother was never the preppy one, but this borders on absolute chaos. If Jason didn’t know any better, he would have thought that the apartment had been robbed.

But the whole gravity of the situation crushed him like a pile of bricks when he went deeper into the small kitchen and living room and found overturned furniture, a broken TV, torn cabinet doors, and tiles covered with broken plates. Everything in the apartment seemed to shout about the invasion, but there was no trace of the acrobat anywhere.

"Dick?" His voice sounded somehow wrong in this disaster-stricken place. Too loud.

But the only sound he could hear was the ringing in his ears from the growing anxiety, which tuned into barely concealed panic. His movement became sharp and jerky, and he rushed into Dick’s bedroom with the same desperation with which a drowning man tries to reach a lifeline with his last strength. Entering, Jason quickly assessed the surroundings—it was as messy as in the other rooms.

But why? What idiot would rob some shitty apartment in the middle of the day? Even if it had been done much earlier, they would have noticed because, thanks to Bruce's abnormal levels of paranoia, they will be notified of any unauthorised entry into any of Bat's locations, including their main safehouses and apartments. And what on earth would the robbers want?

Only if they knew who they were really robbing...

And where the hell is Dick?!

Jason couldn't recall the last time he read Dick's reports (not that he keeps up with Bat's nomenclature in general... and looking back, he regrets it now.)

But everything in him froze, an unpleasant heaviness settled at the bottom of his stomach at the sight of the open window.

For a second, the world stopped existing. Jason couldn’t take a breath, his lungs were paralyzed, and numbness spread throughout his body, making it impossible to move. Only the thin fabric of the curtains swayed slightly in the wind.

Oh no, no, no, no, no—

Overcoming his stupor, Jason reached the window in one leap and looked down, unconsciously looking for-

Crowded street, clean sidewalk, dry asphalt.

The lungs finally took a shuddering breath.

"Dick, what’s wrong?" Somewhere in the depths of the apartment, a scared young voice was heard.

Shit, Tim was with him as well! He was so focused on the stupid assumptions born out of irrationality that he almost forgot about the younger boy.

So he ran towards the sound that was coming from the bathroom. Once there, it took him several seconds to figure out the scene in front of him. Tim stood pressed into the corner near the door, his gaze fixed on something sitting between the sink and bathtub. He made a step forward but was stopped by the crushing sound of glass beneath his boots (he forgot to leave them in his rush to reach their brother and was thankful for them now). The mirror was shattered, some of the pieces gleamed crimson due to the blood on them.

And then it suddenly clicked.

Because once upon a time, a boy stood in front of the mirror, and the face reflecting in it disgusted and terrified him.

The boy who never wanted to die in the first place. The one who never asked to be brought back, because he came back wrong and mangled and broken in so many ways. He couldn’t trust, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t function. He was alive but at the same time he never was. He was somewhere in between, until even that place started to swallow him whole and drag him deep, deep down. And those days, Jason doesn’t even remember much, or his brain tries to at least save him from being eaten alive by guilt. He only remembers that they were darker than death itself, and he came back with so much blood on his hands that he still wonders how they didn’t wither.

And he was so, so lonely, and cold and hurt.

All.

The.

Time.

And angry, so angry.

Angry that he died. Angry that he revived. It was uncontainable, so he lashed out on everything and everyone until the devastation he left behind resembled the one he had inside him.

But Dick was different, right? He was the light and the hope. Their light and hope.

And yet, people might reach a breaking point just the same, despite every little difference.

Dick is always in a good mood, always hopeful, and never loses faith in every little good thing out there, even in the most dire times. These behaviors are usual for people with some kind of emotional issues; the ones who shuts down, who escapes facing their problems and traumas, the ones who are in denial or…

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, Dickie.

Jason walked over and knelt down before the hidden figure of their older brother. How he managed to crawl into that tight space is beyond Jason. Those glassy, empty eyes stared at Jason.

"Hey, Big Bird," Jason held out his hands to the elder, palms up, saying, "C’me here, I’ve got ya."

What did you see in that mirror that you wanted to destroy so badly that even your hands are bleeding?

Something came alive in his eyes, and bloody hands reached out to Jason. They grabbed his like flying acrobats performing on a trapeze would. He learned about the significance of this grip from Alfred, when during farewells, Dick would take one of the butler’s hand in the same grip and put the other arm around Alfred’s shoulder. Jason, at first, kept his distance from Dick's hands, especially after witnessing the elder and Bruce quarrel over Robin. They never fought physically, but Jason didn't allow himself to let his guard down. Of course, after some time Dick cooled down, began trying to build a relationship with the younger, but even then Jason could not trust him one hundred percent. Alfred explained to him that this gesture was a memory of the circus, where Dick was born and lived. It wasn't until years later that Jason realised that this was one of his self-soothing gesture in moments of serious psychological turbulence.

"I bet the couch would be more comfortable, huh?" Jason said, lifting his brother from the ground with alarming ease. He gestured for Tim to follow him.

Jason put the acrobat down, and while Tim was asked to find the med kit, Jason covered Dick’s form with a soft blanket he found nearby. The eldest looked really small like that, curled up with his face hidden in knees. It was so obvious he wanted to hide, to stop whatever was being done to him, that Jason’s heart ached at the sight.

Dick had been hiding from them for weeks, letting the problem fester for so long and not seeking anyone out. But why? He knew better than to follow Bruce’s steps into emotional constipation; Dick had friends and people he trusted with his life. What has been holding him back?

"Jay," a whisper cut like a knife through the silence. Jason straitened from the unexpectedness; everything in him became taut like a string.

"Yeah?" He found his voice with great difficulty; anticipation snaked around his throat, making it hard to even breathe. Jason wanted to look into his eyes so desperately that he could read his brother better. Dick was an open book most of the time, never faking his emotions or opinions.

But maybe Jason was wrong about the last statement, and Dick was a very good pretender. They would not have ended up in this situation otherwise.

"I need to talk to you," he sounded very tired, like a man working non-stop and never achieving the goal would. Yet, there was an urgent seriousness to his tone. Jason associates this voice with hopelessness, sacrifice, and death. And, most of the time, he is correct.

His train of thoughts was interrupted by Tim, who came back rather quickly with a medical kit. The teen looked so unsure of himself, shifting his weight between his feet, even though his face and shoulders looked relaxed, but Jason knew better. In any other situation the older would have teased him about it and found it cute, but now the kid just needed something to focus on.

Once Dick’s hands were treated, Jason helped Dick to his feet. His legs almost immediately buckled up after he stood, so Jason took most of the acrobat’s weight. Dick was quickly losing energy; they needed to talk quickly before Dick changed his mind again.

And Jason was trying hard not to think about how easy it was to drag Dick to his room or how much lighter he had become since they last met.

"Baby Bird, we’ll come back shortly, kay?"

Tim dutifully nodded.

And so, the bedroom door was closed.

+/+

«I’ve never seen you this gentle,» Tim whispered in awe, not realizing he said it out loud.

But it’s not true—Jason was gentle with kids and orphans on the streets, with victims and girls. It's just that this kind of feeling and touch was so intimate and reserved for the closest. And Tim just never saw that, never thought of that, was never on the receiving end of that. Neither with his parents nor with other people except Bruce, Alfred, and Dick. They were the first ones to truly notice him, appreciate him, like him even.

Bruce and Alfred weren’t that tactile either, but when Tim got to know them, they sure seemed to have some kind of secret language of care. Bruce would praise him for a job well done or sometimes the corners if his lips will come up just enough to call it a smile in Bats’. Dick would always ask him before giving a hug or ruffling his hair; he seemed the most open about giving affection. Alfred would pat him on the shoulder and show care in mundane things like cooking his favorite dish after a particular hard patrol, or give an advice about school and stuff.

But this - this is a whole new level of relationship. His parents never showed affection, not in front of anyone, not even within the walls of their own home. Or maybe Tim was never there when it happened, but at the same time they never hugged, or kissed, or patted him on the shoulder. He never felt treasured, cherished, or protected with his parents on some profound level.

But all of that just oozed from those two snuggled brothers in front of him—some kind of real, deep connection.

He saw Bruce at his lowest, when the grief was so consuming that he almost lost himself in it and barely stopped it from drowning others with him. Tim saw Dick sad, angry, in pain, scared, but never this lost, broken, and vulnerable, as if all of his skin had been washed away, leaving only a raw, hurting soul. 

He never saw Dick like that, his protector, his mentor, his friend, his brother.

What if Dick is broken beyond repair? What then?

It all feels so wrong and unreal.

His hero cannot be defeated.

But he has seen it with his own eyes: heroes are mere mortals.

He has seen them fall and helped pick up the pieces.

But Dick? He is different, he must be different, he is better than them, he is stronger than them, he holds so much love for every living being, he cannot-

A voice brought Tim back to reality, "I can be gentle, despite what every asshole thinks of me," Jason said with a lazy smirk. 

The youngest rushed to cover his mouth, taking an unconscious step back. He stood in the half-opened door.

"I didn’t mean it like that, you are kind to me and—"



"It’s okay, Baby bird, I know you can get lost in that big head of yours sometimes," 

Jason chuckled.

Tim blushed and looked down, "Sorry."

"Hey, it’s fine. I would also be a bit shaken to see Dickhead like this."

Jason’s hand never stopped tenderly caressing the elder’s head. The motion looked simultaneously comforting and protective. Jason looked so huge, holding their big brother like that. His whole body almost engulfed Dick, whose face looked more relaxed and even serene in his slumber, although the dark circles under his eyes were as prominent as ever. It was probably the first healthy nap Dick took in a long time. Tim would know, he is an expert in the field of sleep deprivation.  

Tim gulped. His eyes fixed on Dick’s small, worn-out, cured form.

«What’s wrong with him?»

The older man sighed deeply, his lips tightened into a thin line, and his gaze sharpened and became more perceptive.

"I believe, it’s called depression, Baby Bird."

Dick? Has a depression ?

"Yeah, I know it sounds incredible, but when you forget about who Dick is and just list the symptoms, it matches, ya know. He didn’t eat enough, didn’t sleep enough, worked himself to the bone. Hell, he even avoided us and all of his friends. Just kept spiralling down."

Jason hugged the elder even tighter, as if the gesture served as protection from any threat. Tim’s heart clenched painfully.

He had heard those awful, quiet sobs and whimpers coming from the bedroom. Dick's voice was beautiful when he laughed—melodic and infectious. Tim has always been fascinated by how easily and sincerely he can make such a sound. Dick taught him to laugh freely and loudly, which his parents never allowed him, referring to the fact that it is not permissible in society.

And to hear these terrible, suffocating muffled cries from a man whose smile can outshine the sun—it felt like his chest was being torn apart.

And Tim, at that moment, wanted to help more than anything in the world, but the scale of the tragedy scared him so much that he could feel how that helplessness bitterly felt on his tongue. He had never had to face such a situation before, neither as Tim Drake nor as Robin.

Tim knew how to hack the most complex databases, how to solve a case that had been in the cold folder for years. Tim notices what others miss, he easily builds a chain of events from a scanty amount of input data; he has a phenomenal memory. But this? This is beyond his skills, understanding, perception.

Tim can't say he is full of talents, but what he's really good at is being useful. And so he did.

He'd shoved this jumble of emotions deep down, as he'd done thousands of times before, and had begun to act on logic rather than impulses. Jason was with Dick. The elder was in good hands; Jason seemed to know what to do, unlike Tim.

But the answer was before him—the apartment was in an awful state. Tim has a lot of experience taking care of himself and the house, so he picked all the clothes up and put them in the washing machine, he cleaned all the dishes and picked up what was left from the shattered mirror, cleaned the blood, collected the rubbish.

And when he finished, he couldn’t hear any cries or whimpers. Tim couldn’t decide if it was making him more comforted or more concerned. But he can’t avoid the ugly part forever, right? And so he finally found the courage to enter the bedroom. 

"Where were you, Baby Bird? Sorry for leavin ya alone like that"

"It's alright; I understand. I’m not the one who really needs your attention," Tim could feel his throat closing up just by thinking back to seeing Dick curled up on the tiled floor, non-responsive and silent. 



Judging by the expression on Jason’s face, he didn’t like Tim’s wording. He looked like he wanted to object but thought better of it. After half a minute, he spoke, "We will definitely discuss this later."

But it wasn’t clear to Tim what exactly Jason wanted to discuss. So he switched his focus to the matter at hand.

"How is he?" Such a dumb question, Tim, Great job. Might even aim for Darwin Awards. But he couldn’t help but ask.

"He's first in line to get his ass kicked by me, but he'll be fine otherwise."

The scepticism on Tim’s face made Jason laugh softly. 


"I made him agree to get actual help, like, find a professional to sort his shit out."

"And he will?" He couldn’t keep the raw hopefulness from his voice. It made him sound like a small child again, waiting for his parents to actually keep their promise to come home on time and stay more than a day at a time.

His parents never kept their promises to him, but Dick never broke even one. So maybe he will actually get help?

 He needed to be sure, to have a guarantee. And he wanted to be close to his brother now that he knows he is not alone to help Dick. If Tim fails, Jason will step in, and vice versa.

His body moved on his own will. He stopped in front of two brothers, Dick’s bandaged hands hypnotised Tim for some odd reason. He wanted to touch them to make sure that they are real, that he and Jason had treated all the cuts. To make sure that some small piece of the mirror didn’t dig into the very flesh and still torture Dick deep inside.

As soon as Tim's fingers ghosted over Dick’s, the elder’s eyes fluttered open and immediately found his. Before Tim could pull away the acrobat interwined their fingers, cutting off any means of escape. The warmth seeped through the white bandages, and Tim felt the tension gradually leave him.

"I’m sorry I’ve scared you like that, Timmy," Dick said in a hoarse voice.

Tim could feel his eyes burning, the swirl of emotions scratching at his chest and throat with white-hot claws. It was so good to see some resemblance of Dick's usual solicitude. It was comforting in a way to know that Dick is still the same even when going through a difficult time. The same loving, caring older brother.

"We will help you," An inexplicable surge of confidence arose in him, filling his whole being with a purpose. Tim wanted to help Dick the way he helped them all the time. His voice rang with a promise.

"Hmm?" Confusion, shame, and hopefulness mixed weirdly on Dick’s face, yet his eyes were soft.

«We will help you heal,» Tim said and climbed on top of Dick, embracing him with all his strength. Dick curled around him, nuzzled into his hair, and wetly said,

«Thank you.»